


Ice King

by AngryCakeChids



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Crack, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Oneshot, choemaki, do not take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryCakeChids/pseuds/AngryCakeChids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choe Gu-Sung has had a long hard day, and the last thing he wants is to deal with Makishima's bullshit. Yet here he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreatCatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/gifts).



> [I was meant to be studying but my brain wouldn't let me... also sorry about my English in advance.-K1]

Today had been hell for Choe Gu-Sung; the police were finally cracking down on the 'mysterious hacker' (him) that was 'wreaking havoc' (requested by his... partner, as it were) across the city, and it was getting more and more difficult to cover his tracks. Fortunately, he could leave all the stresses behind him as he went to the only place he could necessarily associate with home. However, he knew his partner-in-crime didn't see it like a home; just another place to stay.

_At least he could calm down there._

Well, that was a bit of a grandiose statement. Because at home was his hell of a 'business' partner. Normally, Choe could tolerate him if his day had been relatively stress-free, and he could play along with whatever the man had to witter on about, entertaining the pretentious, book-quoting elitist's whims. Their routine was pretty much predetermined; Choe would get in, exchange mild (but pointless) pleasantries before conversing about whatever his partner decided was an important topic, and after that he'd make lunch because his partner - as they had established - could not cook for shit (and was a picky eater, which was always a pain in Choe's side), and after that the hacker would claim he had some work to do (he didn't). 

But not today. _Oh no._  

"What," Choe began slowly as he got into the kitchen, putting his laptop down, "are you doing up there?" 

Shogo Makishima sat with his back straight, hands resting on bent knees. Unlike every other say, he didn't have a classic book in hand for him to start parroting from (even though Choe hated it, he often wound up listening), which was a small miracle in itself. He was sat there like it was the most casual thing in the world. Apparently, the hacker's voice lulled him from his reverie where he'd be thinking 'deep' and 'profound' thoughts, Choe had no doubt. "Hmm?"

"On the refrigerator. What the hell are you doing?"

"This," Makishima began, holding a finger aloft with an aloof and serious expression, "is a deeply spiritual event which you are witnessing. And perfectly normal where I'm from." 

Choe felt a part of his soul shrivel and die. This really took the fucking cake. "No, it's not." 

"Yes," Makishima insisted gravely, "it is." 

"Are you high?" Choe tried - great, as if the whole book-quoting, philosophy-wannabe bullshit wasn't enough, Makishima had now found out about the miracles of weed. This was the last thing he needed... though to be quite frank, Choe never thought Makishima to be the type. 

"High off the beauty of conscious thought, Choe." 

Choe barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and asked more slowly: "Are you stoned?" 

"That is immaterial. And I'd thank you kindly to stop ignoring my culture. I understand that disrespecting another's culture is quite rude around these parts." Choe nearly snorted as Makishima stared at him like he wasn't the world's largest hypocrite. 

"Uh-huh," Choe finally nodded. "Well, culture or not, you can't just sit on the damned refrigerator whenever you damned well want." 

"This is the sitting place of my people," Makishima stated grandly. 

Choe had _had enough_. "Get. The. Hell. Off. The. Fucking. Refrigerator. Or. You. Can. Fucking. Starve." 

"Alright then," the white-haired man finally assented, hopping as lithely as a cat from atop the refrigerator, before slinking off to the sofa where he picked up a copy of ' _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ '

Choe could have punched him.


End file.
